by Hilary Rose
“What’s got you up so bright and early today?” she asked Hope.
“The fashion show and cancer fundraiser we’re pulling together—or trying to,” she said, sounding stressed, her voice more plaintive than conversational. “It’s to commemorate the anniversary of Stephanie’s death and it’s less than two months away, and I didn’t know who else to talk to about it.”
“I’m glad you came to me.” Caroline naturally assumed Hope was reaching out to her because of the Caroline Spencer Cancer Foundation, the research fund she’d set up to honor her aunt Caroline and which had raised money at countless fundraisers in New York. “Happy to share my experience, so whatever you need: donors mailing lists, tips on raffle tickets, ways to run blind auctions, all of it.”
“‘Blind’ being the operative word,” said Hope with a heavy sigh.
“Sorry, I don’t understand.” Caroline shrugged her shoulders at Gigi, who was sitting across the table, glued to her friend’s side of the conversation as she picked at her fruit and granola.
“Okay, here it is.” Hope heaved another sigh, one that foreshadowed something serious or upsetting or both. “I called about the fundraiser, yes, but I’m more worried about the fashion show. We all are.”
Caroline smiled, remembering how much pressure accompanied the shows at Forrester Creations, how every countdown to show time was fraught with last-minute complications and snafus and how the adrenaline rush of it all was just the sort of high-energy problem-solving she thrived on. “It’ll get done and it’ll be a huge success,” she reassured Hope. “You’ll see.”
“Not this time, Caroline. There’s a problem. I’ve been beating around the bush and I apologize, but I didn’t know how—we’ve kept the situation out of the media.”
“The media? If that’s what’s worrying you, I make it a point not to read anything about Forrester Creations or the people who work there,” said Caroline, not unkindly. “It’s better for my mental health. And I don’t gossip about the family, you know that. I’ve been trying to move forward with my life and I’m starting to.”
“And I’m happy for you, but I need you—we need you—to come back.”
“Come back to Forrester Creations? You’ve got to be kidding.” Caroline laughed. She glanced over at Gigi and rolled her eyes. The very idea was insane.
“To help Ridge finish the designs for the show. It’s in less than two months, as I said, and there’s no other designer who understands the company like you do, who tackles challenges like you do. I know, I know. You were the lead designer on Hope for the Future, not couture, but you wear Ridge’s designs all the time, Caroline. You’re practically a runway model for the line.”
“You had me at ‘Ridge,’ Hope,” she said, reeling from the entreaty that seemed to come out of the blue. She took a sip of her latte and tried to recover her bearings. “I’m flattered that you think I could work on his line, but you know I’m not exactly his biggest fan. Why isn’t he asking me himself, by the way?”
“He’d never ask. He’s much too proud to ask you or anyone else for help.”
“One of his many wonderful character traits: overweening pride.” Caroline sighed. “But why does he even need help? He’s the chairman and CEO now. He’s been designing for Forrester Creations’ fashion shows for years. He can do it with his eyes closed.”
Hope cleared her throat, as if preparing to drop a bombshell—and she did. “It’s his eyes that are the problem. He’s blind, Caroline,” she said finally, tentatively. “For all intents and purposes, Ridge is blind.”
“What?” Caroline sat back in her chair and placed her hand on her heart, trying to steady herself. “Blind, as in stubborn, or blind, as in he can’t see?” She had been with Ridge only a few months ago and he’d looked perfectly healthy.
“There was a wildfire in Malibu—you probably read about that part—and Ridge was there. He suffered what doctors say is a form of ocular trauma called flash blindness. It happens a lot to soldiers in combat if they’re exposed to IEDs. Ridge’s case is a much milder version. Not to get too clinical about it, but basically the extremely intense light from the fire burned his retinal cells. The condition is usually temporary, but the retinal pigment hasn’t regenerated and the vision impairment has lasted longer than anybody expected.”
“Oh my God. I can’t believe this.” Caroline pushed her plate of eggs and toast away, having suddenly lost her appetite. She felt numb, tried to make sense of Hope’s shocking news, tried to picture what Ridge must be going through. For all his faults, he was so vital, so larger-than-life, the standard bearer of Forrester Creations. To imagine him having to deal with this sudden loss of vision, to imagine him losing the ability to design and run the show and do what he loved, to imagine him reduced or vulnerable or any less than Superman, was inconceivable. “I’m so sorry. What was Ridge doing in Malibu to begin with?”
Hope filled her in on Ridge’s daring rescue of RJ and his friend Kyle, their own rescue by the LA County Fire Department, the harrowing trip to the emergency room, the diagnosis of his condition and its aftermath: the spots, the shadows, the blurry images, the residual pain, along with the dark moods, angry outbursts and constant frustration of having to wear sunglasses, keep away from all light sources, of not being fully functional at the office or anywhere else for that matter. “It’s not that he can’t see at all,” she said. “It’s that he can’t see well enough to finish the designs for the fashion show, and he’s more withdrawn, more into his own head. He’s just not the same.”
“I’m so, so sorry,” Caroline repeated as she tried to process all the information Hope had related. No, she wasn’t Ridge’s biggest fan, but she’d never wish him harm. She’d never wish any of them harm—not even Maya. “I can’t believe I didn’t hear about this before.”
“We really have tried to keep it private—for many reasons. But now we’ve got the show weighing on everybody.”
“Have you thought about canceling it, or at least postponing it until Ridge recovers?”
“He won’t hear of it. He says it’s about Stephanie, about honoring her legacy, plus he’s in denial, Caroline. He’s deluded himself into believing that the distorted images he sees on his sketchpad will somehow translate into beautiful dresses. But he can’t execute his designs alone, that’s the sad truth, and there’s nobody else who can pick up the slack, be his eyes, implement his concepts. Thomas’s design expertise is menswear, and he’s got his hands full trying to help run the business right now. Eric would love to pitch in, but he’s had recent health issues of his own—a heart problem that put him in the hospital and gave us all a scare—and he’s supposed to take it easy, which means keeping him away from the office. And Rick, well, he’s not a designer, as you know all too well.”
Caroline inhaled deeply, her head spinning. Poor Gigi was sitting across the table wondering what was going on. She kept mouthing the words “Tell me,” but there would be plenty of time to talk. Now was the time to listen.
“You’d only have to stay until the fundraiser’s over,” Hope went on. “Just to work with Ridge on the designs. Believe it or not, he didn’t hate the idea of you helping him. You’re the only name on our list he didn’t reject.”
“I guess I’m flattered,” said Caroline.
“You should be. You could take Steffy’s office,” said Hope, referring to Ridge’s daughter. “She’s still in Paris so it’s sitting there empty and you’d have it all to yourself. Now, I want to be clear: you don’t have to commit to anything beyond the fashion show, I promise. We’d fly you in on the Forrester jet, set you up with a limo and driver, put you up at a hotel—whatever you need while you’re in LA.”
I used to live in the Forrester guesthouse with Rick, Caroline thought, blinking back the memories of both the happy times there and their anguished final days.
“And then there’s Rick,” Hope added as if reading Caroline’s mind. “He’s done with Maya—for good this time. She doesn’t work at Fo
rrester Creations anymore. She’s not even in town, as far as I know. But more importantly, he’s dying for you to come back, Caroline. He agreed to let me be the one to approach you, but he’d do anything to make things right between you, he really would. He still loves you and he’s beating himself up for what happened between you. Won’t you at least give him another chance while you’re here?”
“I haven’t said I’m coming, Hope.”
Rick still loved her? Wanted to make things right between them? Hope had delivered another bombshell and Caroline had to admit that her heart did a little dance when she heard the words, but was it even possible for Rick to make things right? He had a history with Maya, just as he had a history with her. He’d strayed with Maya before they were even married, for God’s sake.
And yet he’d not only come back to her, but proposed to her and married her at an impromptu wedding on Thanksgiving Day in front of close friends and family.
You have taken me on some wild rides and I’ve jumped off a few times, but I always came back.
That’s what he’d said when he’d gotten down on one knee and proposed to her. He always came back. The question was, could she be open to his coming back this time? Could she ever trust him again? Could she ever let herself love him again?
And there was Ridge. The idea of working with him when he was fully capable was unappealing enough, but now? With his impaired vision and those dark moods and angry outbursts Hope had mentioned, wouldn’t he be even more difficult, more demanding, more judgmental? Caroline was no scared little mouse and she could stand up to anybody, but she’d never had to deal with a man as obstinate and entitled as he was—in his condition and under a tight deadline, no less.
Still, she was a compassionate person—being around cancer patients had taught her so much about empathy and gratitude—and she did feel for him, for his suffering and for the family’s predicament over how to handle it. He could be kind and gentle when he wanted to be—she’d seen it—and designing for the couture line at Forrester Creations would be incredibly satisfying for her, as well as career defining.
And there was Terry Jarvis, the man who didn’t just teach her about dealing with obstacles but schooled her in what it meant to tackle them head on.
She hardly ever talked about it, about Terry, but she couldn’t help thinking of him now, of how they met years ago when she’d first established her foundation and he’d served as a board member. She was young and impetuous and he was older and wiser—and ill with brain cancer, though in remission and functioning at a high level. A former musician who’d landed in the recording industry and risen to the position of VP at one of the major record labels, he was in the prime of his life, riding high, traveling the world with the music industry’s best-known artists. He was charming and charismatic and sexy, and Caroline had fallen for him. They weren’t together long before his cancer came back—with a vengeance. Still, she never wavered in her feelings for him, even knowing that he was dying, even watching him lose his sight as a result of the tumor, and he never wavered in his courage or his joy for living, not until he took his last breath. Knowing him, however briefly, had transformed her from a frivolous girl into a woman with more depth of character than a lot of people gave her credit for.
“Caroline? Will you do this for us?” Hope pleaded, bringing her back to the present and the situation at hand.
“You said Ridge is in denial. He doesn’t even think he needs help.”
“True, but he likes you. He respects you, respects your work. I’m not saying it would be easy—he’d resist your interference at first, no question. But you’ll wear him down, if I know you.” Hope allowed herself one of her little giggles that belied how strong and independent she’d become. “So will you do it? Say yes, please?”
Life can change in an instant, Caroline thought, as she continued to sit back in her chair and ponder the significance of Hope’s phone call. She gazed across the table at her friend Gigi, who’d been a promising dancer with the New York City Ballet before her accident: she’d ruptured two discs in her neck after being hit by a speeding taxi while she was crossing Third Avenue.
Life can change in an instant.
The words echoed in her mind and resonated. One minute you’re going along, thinking you have it all and the next minute you lose your eyesight in a wildfire, like Ridge, or you’re diagnosed with brain cancer, like Terry, or your dreams of being a prima ballerina vanish because you go for a walk in your neighborhood, like Gigi. Personal tragedies were everywhere. What did it all mean? What was the message? Was there a message?
Yes, Caroline thought. There was. We have to live every moment to the fullest, not hold back, not hold onto fear and negativity and not obsess over every petty slight and past hurt. We can never predict what’s coming and there’s no way to prepare. So we need to just live. Just live—a cliché maybe, but it felt truthful to Caroline.
“I’ll come,” she told Hope, praying she was making the right decision, knowing it wasn’t the safe one. “I’ll make sure there are Forrester Creations designs on that runway on the big night—classic, elegant designs that’ll be well worth the price of whatever you’re charging for a fundraiser ticket. Designs your family can be proud of.”
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Hope squealed with delight and relief. “And Rick? Will you let him try to win you back?”
“I can’t answer that one,” she said. “It’ll have to take care of itself.”
After she and Hope hung up, Gigi, whose jaw had dropped midway through the conversation, said, “How soon am I losing you to the land of palm trees and boob implants?”
“Tomorrow morning,” said Caroline. “It sounds like they really need me, like yesterday.”
“So you’re venturing back into that jungle of dysfunction,” Gigi said, running her hand through her pixie haircut.
“I’ll get to see my uncle,” she said. “That’s something positive.”
“Bill Spencer.” Gigi giggled. “Speaking of dysfunction. You staying with him?”
“God, no.” She laughed. “He doesn’t need his niece around. I’ll camp out at a hotel, since it’s a short-term assignment.”
“Unless Rick convinces you to stay.”
“I have no idea what’ll happen with that. I’m going with zero expectations.”
“One thing you know for sure,” said Gigi. “Rick, the supposedly reformed ex-husband, and Ridge, the sight-challenged, high-maintenance designer, hate each other with the white-hot passion of a thousand burning suns—or whatever that expression is—and you’ll be right smack in the middle of them. You’ve got guts, Caroline.”
“Either that or I’m just plain crazy.”
Chapter Four
True to her word, Hope had arranged for a limo to meet Caroline at LAX, drive her to Beverly Hills and remain at her disposal for the duration of her stay, which would be at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, in a huge corner suite overlooking Rodeo Drive. A bottle of the finest California chardonnay chilling in a sterling silver ice bucket and a Baccarat crystal vase overflowing with roses, hydrangeas and dahlias welcomed her to her temporary home; Forrester Creations didn’t do anything halfway: Caroline had to give them that. If the hotel was good enough for Richard Gere and Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, it was good enough for her. She only wished her story could have the kind of happily ever after that the movie’s lovers did.
She sighed as she looked at her mound of luggage. She never did learn how to pack economically, always cramming too many clothes into her bags “just in case.” So silly. Not only were the shops of Rodeo Drive steps away, including the Forrester Creations boutique, but she’d be working for a prestigious fashion house with stock rooms full of anything and everything she could possibly want. But there wasn’t time to scold herself for her indulgences or to unpack all those bags. She’d promised Hope she’d head straight over to the office, ease her way into Ridge’s good graces and set her mission impossible in motion.
; She gave herself a quick glance in the mirror, fluffed her hair, smoothed the skirt of her dress and straightened her spine. She looked the part of the confident professional but she was nervous about how Ridge would react to her being thrust on him. Would he accept her help? Approve of their collaboration? Appreciate that they had a job to do and a deadline in which to do it? And, of course, she was also nervous about how she would feel when she was face to face with Rick for the first time since their divorce. Would it sting to see him? Would he find a way to melt her heart? Did she want him to?